cheese, figs, raisins, and a cold shoulder of pork. Gruff Vox signaled the bony girl, who tore into the food.
'Oh, she's hungry.' Tamlin looked at her thin, worn clothing. 'She's poor, too.'
Vox's hard hand cuffed Tamlin's head, though the lordling hardly felt it. Gesturing, the swordmaster crooked fingers over his eyebrows and frowned, then swiped his hand down his face, and mimicked someone painting.
'My father. His face. Painted.' Tamlin struggled to think. 'No, he wouldn't like that. Mother paints her face, but women like-' Dodging another biff cleared Tamlin's head. 'Oh, yes, I see! Girl, what's your name? Symbaline? Let me see your samples, if you'd be so kind.'
The artist gobbled with one hand and untied the ribbon with the other. Tamlin flipped through sketches of Selgaunt's lords and ladies, then watercolored landscapes. 'Lovely, glowing. Full of-colors and things. Yes, I'll hire you to paint a portrait of my father. It's been a while since he had one, and he shan't live forever, if I'm lucky. I'll give it to him as a present for the new year, if he'll let me in the door. And we'll paint one of Mother for the Moon Festival. And Tazi, if we can slap that sneer off her face. And Tal too. We'll hang his picture on the gate to scare away beggars-ha!'
'Thank you, milord, thank you!' Symbaline wiped her mouth with a napkin and wept anew. 'I'm sorry I cry, milord, but it's been a hard winter. I had a commission to paint Lord and Lady Soargyl, and I sketched for days to find a pose they'd like, but then Lord Soargyl changed his mind and shoved me out the gate, and I was never paid a penny for all my hard work-'
'Don't fret, dear. We are not the sorry Soargyls. The Uskevren always keep their promises. No matter what. We'll install you in the main house as our court painter. You can sleep there too: we could barrack an army in our guest rooms. And you can eat in the kitchen, if the cook's budget will sustain it, the way you eat.'
'Oh, thank you, milord!' gulped the girl. 'And I can paint more than just portraits! I'd really love to paint landscapes and seascapes-'
'Ah? That's admirable, I suppose. You can decorate the main hall with a mural. It needs a little color, the gloomy old dump. Or we'll send you up to the north tower to paint a picture of the harbor, then the hills to the west…'
'You're so kind, sir.' Symbaline fought to still her tears. 'Everyone says you're the most considerate and generous young lord in Selgaunt, and now I see it's true. That's why I approached you. You were my last chance, really. You saved my life. I had no place to spend the night nor any hope for the future-'
'Stop, dear, no need. This way I rescue an innocent maiden, not the other way around, and so banish some omeny beasties lurking about.' That confused the girl, so Tamlin covered her cold hand with surprising gentleness. 'Anyway, it wasn't I who thought of it, but Vox here. He looks fit to eat babies, but he's really the best companion one could want. With Vox at my side, I'm not afraid to venture anywhere in Selgaunt. He's the finest fighter along the Sea of Fallen Stars!'
Tamlin made to raise his glass, then recalled his bodyguard had cut him off. 'Ah. Vox, might I have a tiny drop of something just to toast your health? I'd really appreciate-'
For answer, the swordmaster innocently offered Tamlin a pickled egg and a cold duck's breast.
The lordling's stomach urped as his face drained pale. Tamlin squeaked, 'Pardon me a moment,' and lurched for the door.
Eventually Tamlin staggered back to the table, wiping his mouth. Symbaline continued to plow through the food like an orc army. 'Milord, I hate to beseech, but I need a few coins to buy paints and canvas…'
'Easy enough.' Frowning at Escevar placidly sleeping on a bench, Tamlin hooked his boot and dumped his friend crashing to the filthy floor. 'Escevar, give her some money!'
Roused, Escevar crawled back to the table. 'I tol' you, Deuce, we're skint. All this's on credit.'
With a sigh of disgust, Vox reached down his shirt, pulled out a squirrel-hide purse, and dumped coins on the table. Tamlin slid silver coins toward Symbaline, counting out seven for good luck.
Escevar's slim hand slapped down on the lot. Tamlin objected, 'Es, this is no time to be greedy!'
'No, look!' Shaking off sleep, Escevar became all business. He held up a big silver coin, worn and shiny and stamped with strange sigils. The coin was round but punched at the center with a triangle. 'I've never seen triangle-cut coins before. And there are, um, sixteen here. Where'd you get them, Vox?'
Vox mimed a whistle, then cutting a throat. Tamlin translated, 'The purse from the dead whistler, the gnasher-handler!'
'Wait, now.' Escevar wrinkled his brow. 'If the hillmen brought these coins from their country… and they spend them in pubs or stores… Wherever we found a batch of these coins, we might find the hillmen's hideout nearby!'
'Why find the hillmen?' asked Tamlin. 'They tried to kill us. Shouldn't we avoid them?'
'Don't try to think when you're potted, Deuce,' sniped Escevar. 'We don't really want the hillmen, but they did try to kidnap or kill you and Zarrin. Maybe they know where Zarrin is. Trained dogs, or gnashers, can sniff people out, you know.'
Fuddled, puzzled, Tamlin replied, 'You're just making this up to look good for the girl.'
'What girl?' demanded Escevar. 'Oh, her. No! Would you think a moment, for the love of Selune? All you've done tonight is waste money, and get us thrown out of the house-'
Vox mimed bending over and heaving.
'-and puked in the street,' added Escevar. 'Hardly the hallmarks of a hero.'
'Oh, so? I-I-' Indignant but stumped, Tamlin shut up.
Symbaline interjected, 'I know how you can find more coins.'
'You do?' asked both men. 'How?'
'Magic.'
'Hoy, Lord Tamlin! A word, if you please!'
'Guts of the gods!' growled Escevar. 'Why doesn't someone squash that bloodsucking leech?'
Halting in the wintry windblown street, Tamlin, Escevar, and Vox hunted for the voice. It came from above. The Blue Coot was a three-story tavern of stone and timber. Stepped balconies tilted alarmingly over the street. In summer, whores, male and female, lolled above and called to potential customers. In winter, the balconies were rimed with ice. Padrig the Palmer leaned from a second-floor balcony, pudgy and tall in his fur coat and floppy hat. Before, begging money, he'd worn a syncophant's smile, but now his grin curled like a fox's. Beside Padrig stood an unsavory youth and older man, both fit to cut a cripple's throat for a penny. Third-floor balconies were dark and unoccupied.
'Master Tamlin, your plan proceeds apace!' Padrig bowed theatrically. 'Before long you'll sit the tallest chair in Stormweather Towers!'
'What?' Down in the street, Tamlin leaned back and almost toppled, for liquor still gripped him. 'Did-Did I miss something, Paddy? What do you gibber about?'
'Your thirty ravens, sir, were invested just in time! All the city knows your allowance is cut off! Ratigan the Green manufactures poison, and now you've engaged a portrait painter to approach your father! You can't enter Stormweather, but she shall! So while you stay the night in Lantern Alley, your minions will do your dirty work!'
Behind Tamlin, Vox tugged his bearskin cape aside to free his war axe. The fightmaster pointed to the Coot's doors and mimed chopping. Tamlin restrained him, asking both companions, 'What's this about? Who's Ratigan? How does he know about the girl? I thought she was innocent! And my tallhouse in Lantern Alley? Wait! If the girl's part of some Soargyl plot-'
'Stop, Deuce! It's claptrap!' Escevar spat in the street. 'It's another of his blackmail scams, spinning gossamer out of gossip! He's framing you for some cocked-eyed assassination attempt on your father!'
'Someone plans to assassinate my father?' Tamlin gaped in horror, wishing dearly he weren't drunk. 'I mean, it's been tried before, but I'm not involved! But what will Father think?'
'He'll think you masterminded the plot!' Safe on high, Padrig laughed. 'I have witnesses and a receipt for thirty ravens! That money will hire enough assassins-I say, what-'
Standing in the street, looking up, Vox suddenly yanked Tamlin back while Escevar bulled him from the front, yelling, 'Move!'
